


Aftershocks

by hrhowling



Series: Get Your Shit Together [4]
Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Hopeskine, Hopeskine Edition!, I used google translate, I'm sorry if I butchered it, Irish Language, Light Angst, M/M, Post-War, Psychosomatic pain, Shapeshifter Hopeless, Shapeshifting, The 'Get Your Shit Together' AU, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 16:31:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrhowling/pseuds/hrhowling
Summary: Neither Hopeless nor Erskine liked thunder. It reminded them too much of the war; of battlefields, avalanches and bombs, bringing back the pain they felt with it.





	Aftershocks

Ireland was known for its rainy weather, but very rarely did it ever have thunderstorms of this magnitude. Hail was lashing at the windows of Erskine and Hopeless’ flat, lightning flashed through the curtains and not even a second after, the heavy rumble of thunder vibrated through their chests like shockwaves. It was past midnight. The storm had been going on for hours, with no signs of stopping.

Neither Hopeless nor Erskine liked thunder. It reminded them too much of the war; of battlefields, avalanches and bombs. With every crash, Hopeless’ vision flooded with bloodied red fire and he felt himself shift in a bid to find a face and mind that wouldn’t be frightened by this quite so much. Each white flash sent agonising pain pulsing through Erskine’s skull, like a clawed parasite was scraping away at the walls of his eye socket. He had his face buried in his pillow and Hopeless was curled into his back, arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Do shúile dhó arís, nach bhfuil sé?” Hopeless asked when the storm seemed to reach a low point in its rage.

Erskine just whimpered and pressed his face harder against the pillow. There were tears trickling from his eyes, and he knew that if he looked in a mirror right now, his left eye would probably look like it was infected; bloodshot and puffy.

He felt Hopeless’ lips against the back of his neck and his grip around his waist tighten for a moment.

“Beidh mé ar ais ceart, grá,” Hopeless whispered into his ear before slowly edging out of the bed. His touch lingered on Erskine’s skin, even after he left the room. Lightning lit up the bedroom once more, and Erskine clutched at his head, groaning in pain. In the kitchen, he heard something fall over as thunder boomed outside. Something inside him twisted. It was always him… He was always the weak one… He always had Hopeless running himself ragged trying to fix him…

No. No, stop it. He had to stop thinking like that. He wasn’t a parasite or a deadweight. He wasn’t taking advantage of Hopeless’ kindness. They looked after each other, they **loved** each other. They each made sure the other was okay, never leaning too heavily on one another should they cause for each other to fall. It wasn’t always him who needed helping. Hopeless had his own pains to deal with, they just behaved differently to Erskine’s.

His thoughts were interrupted by hurried footsteps entering the room, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position, looking up at Hopeless with watery eyes. Hopeless sat down on the bed, all lanky limbs and messy blonde hair. Soft, ochre eyes found his, tired and haunted.

“I got an ice pack, milis,” Hopeless whispered, holding out the ice pack in question, wrapped in a towel.

“Raibh maith,” Erskine murmured, taking it and holding it up against his left eye. The cold immediately seeped into his burning skin, soothing the pain away and drawing a sigh of relief from his lips. “I… Is breá liom tú…”

“I know,” Hopeless said softly, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss against Erskine’s forehead. He could smell his shampoo as they both curled up under the covers again, fingers intertwined, whispering sweet nothings to each other as the storm raged on outside. Erskine still had the ice pack pressed up against his face, hissing in discomfort whenever the pain spiked, his head resting against Hopeless’ front. “I’m sorry this keeps happening to you.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for. It’s the bastards who did this to me who should be sorry.”

“Could’ve been avoided if we’d just searched harder. And in the right place.”

“You weren’t to know. Stop blaming yourself.”

“Sorry.”

“Grouse is still working on a way to stop it from hurting. I’m not a completely lost cause, it seems.”

“Hey. Don’t tell me to stop moping and then do it yourself, okay? We talked about this.”

“Sorry about that. I was pretty sure I’d moved past that, but… I guess not.”

Murmuring under his breath, Hopeless reached up to run a hand through Erskine’s hair. “It’s fine. I know how difficult it gets.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The storm continued until late morning. Neither of them slept, and the pain didn’t ease up either, but they held on, just like they always did. As the willed the hours away, Erskine decided to see Professor Grouse about the pain later and Hopeless arranged an impromptu appointment with his therapist at five in the morning. Thank goodness for emails.


End file.
